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IRISH    TOASTS 


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RISH^ToASTf 


IRISH 
TOAST 


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WEILL  C0O 


Copyright^  igo8 
By  H.  M.  Caldwell  Co. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  at 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS: 
C.  H. Simonds  Ca Co., Boston, U.S.A. 


ISH^  iOASTr 


wt    A  Toast  from  Ireland  to  Irishmen  in 
^^1  America 


Sent  by  John  E.  Redmond,  M.  P, 


2061108 


RISH^n[0ASTr 


/ 


Irtsh^Toastj 


INTRODUCTION 

Irish  wit,  Irish  eloquence,  Irish 
patriotism,  Irish  hospitaUty,  and  the 
Irishman's  high  admiration  and  respect 
for  woman  are  famous  the  world  over. 

Ihis  collection  of  Irish  Toasts  and 
Sentiments  contains  the  cream  of  it  all. 

Keady-witted  as  every  Irishman  is, 
he  will  be  glad  to  have  this  little  re- 
minder of  the  right  things  to  say  on 
the  right  occasion.  Here  are  Toasts 
Patriotic,  Convivial  and  Humorous, 
Toasts  to  Love,  to  Women  and  to 
Friendship  and  a  miscellaneous  gar- 
land of  sentiments  from  which  the 
bright  flowers  may  be  plucked  at  will 
or  as  the  occasion  serves. 

And  with  all  Irishmen  all  the  world 

over  the  compiler  lifts  his  glass  with 

the  sentiment  we  all  so  ardently  love, 

"  Erin  slain  the  gal  go  bragh! '» 

vii 


^ 


RISH^ToASTf 


Irish^Toastj  ) 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

/      I     Introduction vii 

Patriotic  Toasts  and  Sentiments     . 
Toasts  and  Sentiments  to  Women,  Love, 

Friendship,  etc.  .        .        ,        .37 

Convivial  and  Humorous  Toasts       .        .    59 
Miscellaneous  Toasts  and  Sentiments     .    93 


RISH^iOASTJ 


f  IRISH^ToASTf 


PATRIOTIC    TOASTS 
AND    SENTIMENTS 


RISH^ToASTf 


\ 


^^ 


RISH^  i  OASTf 


A  greeting  and  a  promise  unto  them 
all  we  send ; 

Their  character  our  charter  is,  their 
glory  is  our  end,  — 

Their  friend  shall  be  our  friend,  our 
foe  whoe'er  assails 

The  glory   or   the    story   of   the  sea- 
divided  Gaels 

One  in  name  and  in  fame 
Are   the    sea-divided    Gaels. 

A  high  Post  to  the  enemies  of  Ould 
Ireland. 

All  hail  fairest  land  in  Neptune's  old 

ocean ! 
Thou    land     of     St.     Patrick,    my 

Ireland  agra ! 
Cold,  —  cold  must  the  heart  be,  and 

void  of  emotion 


That  loves  not  the  music  of  Erin    ^1^ 
go  bragh! 


*5» 


Americans  and  Irishmen  —  They 
may  differ  as  to  whether  the  patron 
saint  of  the  latter  had  any  hand  in 
driving  out  the  enemies  of  the  former 
—  but  in  this  they  will  agree  —  to 
stand  together  and  fall  together,  be- 
fore a  hostile  foot  shall  again  be 
placed  on  the  land  of  their  birth  or 
the  land  of  their  adoption. 


^ 


And  when  at  last  in  death  we're  laid 

ashes  to  ashes  gone, 
When    earth    and    faction    cease    for 

us,  and  we  are  all  alone, 
The  mantle  that  our  mother  spreads 

above  our  grave  I  ween 
Is  still  the   color  of    our    land,  our 

own  sad,  lonely  green. 


iJi 


Irish^^Tqastj 

A  priestly  train,  o'er  the  briny  main 

Shall  greet  my  love, 
And  wine  of  Spain  to  thy  health  will 
drain 

My  Ros  geal  dubh. 

Arch  of  the  ocean  and   Queen  of 
the  West! 

Be  bold,  united,  firmly  set, 
Nor  flinch  in  word  or  tone  — 

We'll  be  a  glorious  nation  yet, 
Redeemed  —  erect —  alone! 

Bless  the  country,  say  I,  that  gave 
Patrick  his  birth. 

Bless  the  land  of  the  oak,  and  its 
neighboring  earth. 

Where  grow  the  shillelah  and  sham- 
rock so  green ! 

5 


...  _..  -  IMII  II  III  llll      I 

SH^TOASTJ 


May   the   sons   of    the   Thames,    the 

Tweed,  and  the  Shannon, 
Drub  the  foes  who  dare  plant  on  our 

confines  a  cannon; 
United  and  happy,  at  Loyalty's  shrine. 
May   the   rose   and    the   thistle   long 

flourish  and  twine 
Round    the    sprig    of    shillelah    and 

shamrock  so  green ! 

Buried  and  cold  when  my  heart  stills 

her  motion, 
Green  be  thy  fields,  sweetest  Isle  of 

the  ocean. 
And    thy    harp    striking    bards    sing 

aloud  with  emotion, 
Erin  mavoumeen !  Erin  go  bragh ! 

But  come,  fill  up  another  cup. 
And  with  every  sup  we'll  say, 


Vi 


4 


ISH'^iOASTr 

"Here's  dear  Old  Ireland! 
Loved  Old  Ireland ! 
Ireland,  boys,  hurrah !  " 

99 

But  whether  on  the  scaffold  high, 

Or  in  the  battle's  van, 
The  fittest  place  where  man  can  die 

Is  where  he  dies  for  man ! 


^ 


Come!    pledge  again   thy  heart  and 
hand  — 
One  grasp  that  ne'er  shall  sever; 
Our    watchword    be  —  "  Our    native 
land!" 
Our  motto  —  "  Love  forever!  " 

Daniel  0*Connell  —  Athens  boasted 
of  a  Solon,  an  Aristides  and  a  Demos- 
thenes, but  Ireland  beholds  all  their 


SH^TOASTJ 


great  qualities  combined  in  her  favor- 
ite Son. 


^ 


Daniel  O'Connell:  the  enemy  of 
corruption,  the  champion  of  his  in- 
jured country  and  the  defender  and 
asserter  of  its  rights  and  liberties. 


^ 


Dear   Erin,   how   sweetly   thy   green 

bosom  rises. 
An  emerald  set  in  the  ring  of  the  sea ; 
Each    blade    of    thy    meadows    my 

faithful  heart  prizes, 
Thou  queen  of  the  West,  the  world's 

Cushla-ma-chree ! 


Vi 


^ 


Down    with    the    tyrants,    and    up 
with  the  green  and  gold! 

8 


Irish^Ioastx 


Erin    the    land    of    potatoes;     may 
it  never  lack  butter-milk. 

Erin  the  land  of  the  brave  and  the 
bold. 

Erin !  thy  silent  tear  shall  never  cease 
Erin!    thy  languid  smile  shall  ne*er 

increase 

like  the  rainbow's  light 
Thy  varied  tints  unite, 
And  form  in  Heaven's  sight 
One  arch  of  Peace. 

Erin's  friend;   may  his  name  live 
for  ever. 

1^ 

Flag   of   beauty,   flag   of   splendor, 
May  old  Erin's  sons  defend  her 
Till  thy  folds  shall  float  above  her 


RlSH^iOASTJ 


Free  as  shines  the  noonday  sun : 
Till  the  hated  links  that  bind  her 
Shall  with  scorn  be  flung  behind  her, 
Till  fair  freedom  smiles  upon  her, 

By  her  children's  valor  won. 


^ 


God  shield  you,  champions  of  the  Gael, 
Never  may  your  foes  prevail. 
Never  were  ye  known  to  yield 
Basely  in  the  embattled  field. 


«(* 


Here*s  the  shamrock,  the  thistle,  the 

leek,  and  the  rose, 
And    the   four    saints,    for    emblems, 

which  each  of  them  chose, 
Flourish    long    and    Uve    happy,    like 

sister  and  brother. 
Since  now  all  the  four  have  married 

each  other. 


10 


RTSH^ToASTf 


Here  is  to  old  Ireland,  her  sons  and 
her  daughters ; 
Here  is  to  her  emblem,  the  Sham- 
rock, I  mean. 
May   the    sun    always   shine   on   the 
round  towers  of  Erin. 
That's  a  toast  from  the  heart  of  an 
Irish  colleen. 


^ 


Here's  to  the  land  of  the  shamrock 

so  green. 
Here's   to   each   lad   and   his   darling 

colleen. 
Here's  to  the  ones   we  love   dearest 

and  most  — 
And  may  God  save  old  Ireland !  That's 

an  Irishman's  toast. 


^ 


Hibemia  —  Steeped  in  her  own  tears 
she    never    can    get    up ;  —  soaking 

II 


SH^TOASTJ 


in  whiskey,  she  must  go  down ;  — 
but  bathing  in  *'  coult  wather  "  she 
will  get  on  *'  swimmingly." 

Horticultural  Experiments  —  May 
the  tree  of  freedom  soon  be  planted 
in  Ireland,  and  may  John  Bull  find 
it  as  difficult  to  uproot  as  he  foimd  it 
here. 

I*m    weary    for    old    Ireland  —  once 
again 
To  see  her  fields  before  me, 
In  sunshine  or  in  rain ! 
And  the  longing  in  my  heart  when 
it  comes  o'er  me 
Stmgs  hke  pain. 

In  her  cause  I  am  willin*  my  veins 
should  run  dhry, 

12 


\ 


ISH^iOASTT 

And  for  Ireland's  sweet  sake  I  am 
ready  to  die. 


% 


Ireland !  Ancient  Ireland ! 

Ancient!  yet  for  ever  young! 
Thou  one  mother,  home  and  sireland, 
Thou  at  length  hast  found  a  tongue, 
Proudly  thou  at  length 
Resistest  in  triumphant  strength. 


% 


Ireland  and  America  —  May  the 
former  soon  be  as  free  as  the  latter, 
and  may  the  latter  never  forget  that 
Irishmen  were  instrumental  in  secur- 
ing the  liberty  they  now  enjoy. 

Ireland  —  St.  Patrick  destroyed  its 
creeping  things  of  other  days  —  may 

13 


"  r — 

SH^TOASIJ 


his  disciples  speedily  exterminate  the 
political  reptiles  of  the  present  age. 

Ireland :    sympathy  to  her  wrongs, 
and  a  determination  to  redress  them. 


•« 


Ireland :  the  sister  of  proud  England, 
may  she  never  be  her  bonded  slave. 


^ 


Ireland's  harp  all  over  the  world. 

Ireland's     harp:     may    its    chords 
never  be  broken. 


^ 


Ireland's  immortal  Shamrock :  may 
it  be  green  for  ever. 


14 


iRISH^ToASTji 


Irish  heroes:    and  the  apprentices 
of  Londonderry. 


^91 


i 


Irish  Shillelaghs:    may  they  never 
break  the  head  of  a  friend. 


Si 


mS^         Irishmen—  The  love  of  Hberty  will 
W^     bum  m  their  bosoms  as  long  as  their 
WW     bright  isle  is  washed  by  the  ocean 


♦rit 


Justice    to    Ireland  —  A    domestic 
legislature   alone    can   confer   it;     to 
pi     expect  it  from  a  London  Parliament 
^l    is  an  idle  dream,  and  we  Irishmen,  on 
fS^     this  side  of  the  water,  hope  that  full 
^^^     restitution  will  be  made  for  past  in- 
^*^      justices. 

15 


fc^_^  -I  f — - — -— — 

RISH^ToASTf 

Land    of    my    forefathers,    Erin-go- 

Bragh ! 
Buried  and  cold  when  my  heart  stills 

its  motion, 
Green  be  thy  fields,  sweetest  isle  of 

the  ocean, 
And    thy    harp-striking    bards    sing 

aloud  with  devotion, 
Erin   Mavoureen!    Sweet   Erin-go- 

Bragh! 

Let  all  atone 

For  blood  and  groan, 
For  dark  revenge  and   open  wrong; 

Let  all  unite 

For  Ireland's  right 
And,  drown   our  griefs  in  Freedom's 
song. 

May  the  Cork  of  Irish  freedom 
float  proudly  on  the  waves  of  Irish 
liberty. 


i6 


m 


RISH^  I  OASTf 


May  the  day  come  quickly  when 
Great  Britain  will  discover  that  Irish- 
men are  her  stanchest  friends,  and 
when  Irishmen  will  learn  that  Eng- 
lishmen are  their  brothers. 


% 


May  the  Emerald  Isle  ever  bloom 
in  the  main,  and  only  be  trodden  by 
the  foot  of  friendship. 


<ii 


May    the    Emerald    Isle    that    grows 

out  of  the  sea 
Flourish    long    in    Prosperity,    happy 

and  free. 


% 


May  the  Irishmen  wear  their  griev 
ances  till  they  are  all  re-dressed. 


17 


May  the  shamrock  continue  to 
jaourish,  and  ever  be  an  emblem  of 
unity,   charity,  friendship,   and   love. 

My  blessing  be  on  you,  old  Erin, 
My  own  land  of  frolic  and  fun. 

For  all  sorts  of  mirth  and  diversion 
Your  like  is  not  under  the  sun. 


l/t 


^ 


0  Ireland,  isn't  it  grand  you  look  — 
Like  a  bride  in  her  rich  adomin'? 

And  with  all  the  pent-up  love  of  my 
heart 
I  bid  you  the  top  o'  the  momin'! 


^ 


Oh!    the  green  land,  the  old  land. 
Far  dearer  than  the  gold  land. 
With    all    its     landscape    glory    and 
unchanging  summer  skies ; 

i8 


g  ■»inTWTr°«TTTirMi|„u,M,.r-^    A  ■  J  >*%  j 

iRTSH^lOASTf  I 


Let  others  seek  their  pleasures 
In  the  chase  of  golden  treasures, 
Be   mine   a  dream  of   Erin,  and  the 
light  of  Kathleen^s  eyes. 

% 

On  one  side  is  Virtue  and  Erin 
On  theirs  is  the  Saxon  and  Guilt ! 

Peace  and  Prosperity  to  Ireland 

Pearly  are  the  skies  in  the  country 
of  my  fathers. 
Purple    are    thy   mountains,    home 
of  my  heart. 
Mother  of  my  yearning,  love  of  all 
my  longings, 
Keep    me    in    remembrance,    long 
leagues  apart. 

19 


RlSH^lOASTf 


Quick,  quick,  now,  I'll  give  you,  since 

Time's  glass  will  run 
Even   faster    than    ours    doth,    three 

bumpers  in  one; 
Here's  to  the  poet  who  sings  —  here's 

to  the  warrior  who  fights  — 
Here's  to  the  statesman  who  speaks, 

in  the  cause  of  men's  rights. 


^ 


Shannon's    flowery    banks:     may 
they  bloom  for  ever. 


^ 


She  is  a  rich  and  a  rare  land. 
Oh!   she's  a  fresh  and  a  fair  land, 
She  is  a  dear  and  rare  land  — 
This  native  land  of  mine. 


Slante  gael  go  bragh ! 


20 


Irish^Toastj 


I 


^: 


Success  to  the  Emerald  Isle 

Where    Shillelagh    and    Shamrocks 
abound, 
May  peace  and  prosperity  smile 

O'er  the  land  and  its  natives  around. 


•5^ 


The  anniversary  of  St.  Patrick's 
day:  and  may  the  Shamrock  be 
green  for  ever. 

The  birthplace  of  wit,  and  the  home 
of  hospitality  —  Ireland. 


% 


The  Descendants  of  Irishmen  — 
May  they  never  forget  the  respect 
which  they  owe  to  the  land  which 
contains  the  ashes  of  their  fathers. 


21 


RISH^lOASTf 


The  Emerald  Isle  —  May  her  sons 
and  daughters  resemble  a  field  of 
potatoes  in  full  bloom,  beautiful  to 
look  upon;  and  when  called  on  to 
assist  the  distressed,  may  they,  like 
the  roots,  prove  a  real  blessing  to  the 
poor. 


The   everlasting    Green   for   me; 
And  we  for  one  another. 

The    green,   oh    the    green, 

color  of  the  true 
To  wear  it  far  transcends  in  worth, 

the  orange  or  the  blue. 
Arrayed   in   brilliant  blue   above   the 

spreading  sky  is  seen. 
But  the  mantle  of  our  mother  earth 

is  still  the  glorious  green. 


ISH^iOASTf 

The  Heart  of  an  Irishman  —  A 
living  monument  of  the  kind  and 
generous  feelings  —  while  the  hand 
of  Charity  guides  the  stream,  may 
the  hand  of  Wealth  yield  a  perpetual 
supply. 

The    homes  that    our   fathers  —  our     « 

childhood  endeared  — 
That  our  memories   cling   to   with 

pining  desire, 
Shall    be    Ours  —  Ours    again  —  and 

the  brave  will  be  heard. 
The    long    exiled    brave  —  cheering 

Sheela  na  guire. 

The  Irish  -  American  — may  his  tribe     | 


mcrease  • 


ti 


The  Lads  of  the  land  of  Shillelagh. 

23 


RlSH^iOASTf 


The   queen  of  all  islands  is  Erin, 
the  blest. 


?J 


The  savage  loves  his  native  shore, 

Though  rude  the  soil  and  chill  the 
air: 
Then  well  may  Erin's  sons  adore 

Their  isle,  which  nature  formed  so 
fair. 
What  flood  reflects  a  shore  so  sweet 

As  Shannon  great,  or  pastoral  Bann? 
Or  who  a  friend  or  foe  can  meet 

So  generous  as  an  Irishman? 

His  hand  is  rash,  his  heart  is  warm, 
But  honesty  is  still  his  guide; 

No  more  repent  a  deed  of  harm. 
And    none    forgives    with    nobler 
pride ; 

He  may  be  duped,  but  won't  be  dared — 
More  fit  to  practise    than  to  plan; 

24 


RTSH*ToASTf 


»^\ 


He  dearly  earns  his  poor  reward, 
And  spends  it  like  an  Irishman. 

If  strange  or  poor,  for  you  heMl  pay, 

And  guide  to  where  you  safe  may 
be; 
If  you're   his   guest,   while   e'er  you 
stay 

His  cottage  holds  a  jubilee. 
His  inmost  soul  he  will  unlock. 

And  if  he  may  your  secrets  scan, 
Your  confidence  he  scorns  to  mock, 

For  faithful  is  an  Irishman. 


By  honor  bound  in  woe  or  weal 

Whatever  she  bids  he  dares  to  do; 
Try    him    with    bribes  —  they    won't 
prevail ; 
Prove    him    in    fire  —  you'll    find 
him  true. 
He  seeks  not  safety,  let  his  post 
Be  where  it  ought,  in  danger's  van; 

25 


Slf 


RISH^IOASTJ 


And  if  the  field  of  fame  be  lost, 
It  won't  be  by  an  Irishman. 

Erin!    loved  land!    from  age  to  age 

Be  thou  more  great,  more  famed, 
and  free ; 
May    peace    be    thine,    or,    should'st 
thou  wage 

Defensive  war,  cheap  victory. 
May  plenty  bloom  in  every  field 

Which  gentle  breezes  softly  fan, 
And   cheerful   smiles   serenely   gild 

The  home  of  every  Irishman! 


^ 


The   Shamrock,   the   green  immortal 
Shamrock, 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock. 

26 


iRj:SH^iQASTJj 

Then  let  us  be  frisky,  and  tipple  the 

whiskey, 
Long  life  to  the  land  of  dear  liberty's 

joys. 
No   country  whatever  has  power   to 

sever 
The    Shamrock,    the    Rose    and    the 

Thistle,  my  boys. 


•5^ 


Then    here's    their    memory  —  may 
it  be 

For  us  a  guiding  light. 
To  cheer  our  strife  for  liberty. 

And  teach  us  to  unite! 
Through   good    and   ill,   be   Ireland's 
still. 

Though   sad   as   theirs,   your  fate; 
And  true  men,  be  you,  men. 

Like  those  of  Ninety-Eight. 

27 


Eg—V    |Li       I  I  '^ ~- 


HA 


There's  a  dear  little  plant  that  grows 
in  our  isle, 

'Twas    Saint    Patrick    himself,    sure, 
that  set  it; 

And    the    sun     on    his     labor    with 
pleasure  did  smile, 

And   with    dew   from    his    eye    often 
wet  it. 

It  thrives  through  the  bog,  through 
the  brake,  through  the  mireland; 

And  he  called  it  the  dear  little  sham- 
rock of  Ireland, 
The     sweet    little     shamrock,     the 

dear  little  shamrock. 
The  sweet  little,  green  little,  sham- 
rock of  Ireland. 

This   dear  Uttle   plant   still  grows   in 

our  land. 
Fresh    and   fair   as    the    daughters 

of  Erin, 
Whose    smiles    can    bewitch,    whose 

eyes  can  command, 

28 


In    each    climate    that    they    may 
appear  in; 
And  shine  through  the  bog,  through 
the  brake,  through  the  mireland: 

The  sweet  Uttle  shamrock,  the  dear 
Uttle  shamrock, 

The  sweet  Uttle,  green  little,  sham- 
rock of  Ireland. 


ISH^iOASTf 


This    dear    little    plant     that    springs 
from  our  soil, 
When    its    three    little    leaves    are 
extended, 
Denotes  from  one  stock  we  together 
should  toil. 
And    ourselves     by     ourselves     be 
befriended ; 
And  still  through  the  bog,  through  the 

brake,    through    the    mireland. 
From   one    root   should    branch,   like 
the  shamrock  of  Ireland, 
The  sweet  Uttle  shamrock,  the  dear 
little  shamrock, 


29 


i^ 


B5t— ^    ^  y ~ 

RISH'H^OASTJ 


The  sweet  little,  green  little,  sham- 
rock of  Ireland. 

Those   hues   in   our  bosoms   be   sure 
to  unite,  boys : 
Let   each    Irish    heart    wear    those 
emblems  so  true; 
Be  fresh  as  the  green,  and  be  pure 
as  the  white,  boys. 
Be   bright   as   the   orange,   sincere 
as  the  blue. 
I  care  not  a  jot 
Be  your  scarf  white  or  not. 
If  you  love  as  a  brother  each  child 
of  the  soil; 

I  ask  not  your  creed, 
If  you'll  stand  in  her  need 
To  the  land  of  your  birth  in  the  hour 
of  her  dolors. 
The  foe  of  her  foes,  let  them  be 
who  they  may; 

30 


RISH^iOASTf 


Then,   "  Fusion  of  hearts,   and   con- 
fusion of  colors !  " 
Be    the    Irishman's    toast    on    St. 
Patrick's  Day. 


*^ 


Though  absent,  the  fount  of  our  faith 

is  not  frozen. 
While    we    live,    of    its    upwelling 

waters  we'll  draw, 
For  the  maids  that  we  love,  for  the 

land  that  we've  chosen. 
Where   freedom   is   nursed   at   the 

bosom  of  law. 
"  Land  of  the  free !    for  the  shelter 

thou'st  given 
To  those  whom  the  storm  of  oppres- 
sion has  driven 
From  their  homes,  may  a  blessing  be 

on  thee  from  Heaven," 
Say    the    sons    and    the    daughters 

of  Erin  go  bragh. 


k4^. 


31 


RISH^iOASTf 


To  the  Country  that  gave  St.  Patrick 
birth. 


*Si 


To  the  Irishmen  in  America !  — 
They  have  built  our  great  pubUc 
works;  they  have  constructed  our 
vast  system  of  railways;  they  have 
risen  to  place  of  power  and  eminence 
in  every  walk  of  industry  and  in  every 
avenue  which  is  open  to  brains  and 
pluck. 


?^ 


To  the  Shamrock,  that  never  will 
lose  its  emerald  hue. 


^ 


To  our  native  land.  Every  one 
loves  it  whether  he  was  bom  there 
or  not. 


32 


irtsh^ToasttI 


til 


I 


^1 
J 


^i 


<^^ 
^ 


"  True  to  his  name,  his  country,  and 

his  God, 
Faithful  at  home,  and  steadfast  still 

abroad." 

Truth  for  England  and  Justice  for 
Ireland. 

"  Well,  here's  thank  God  for  the  race 

and  the  sod!  " 
Said  Kelly  and  Burke  and  Shea. 

Wert  thou  all  that  I  wish  thee, 
Great,  glorious  and  free, 
First  flower  of  the  earth. 
And  first  gem  of  the  sea. 


tf 


We've    heard    her   faults    a    hundred 
times. 


5-^ 


RISH^TOASIJ 


The  new  ones  and  the  old, 
In    songs    and    sermons,   ranns 
rhymes, 
Enlarged  some  fifty  fold, 
But  take  them  all,  the  great  and  small. 
And  this  we've  got  to  say: 
Here's  dear  Old  Ireland, 
Good  Old  Ireland, 
Ireland,  boys,  hurrah! 


ti 


[    What  flood  reflects  a  shore  so  sweet 
As    Shannon's    sweet    or    pastoral 
Pann? 
Or  who  a  friend  or  foe  can  meet 
So  generous  as  an  Irishman? 


^ 


When  Erin  first  rose  from  the  dark 

swelling  flood, 
God  blessed  the  green  Island,  and  saw 

it  was  good ; 

34 


tfk 


m 


RTSH"^  i  O ASTJ I 


The   emerald   of   Europe,   it   sparkled 

and  shone  — 
In   the   ring   of   the   world   the   most 

precious  stone. 
In  her  sun,  in  her  soil,  in  her  station 

thrice  blest, 
With  her  back   towards  Britain,  her 

face  to  the  West, 
Erin   stands   proudly   insular   on   her 

steep  shore, 
And  strikes  her  high   harp  'mid   the 

ocean's  deep  roar.  • 

Yes !  Ireland  shall  be  free, 
From  the  centre  to  the  sea; 
Then  hurrah  for  Liberty ! 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 


35 


RISH^iOASTf 


bV 


r  Irtsh^Toasij 


TOASTS    AND 

SENTIMENTS    TO 

WOMEN,  LOVE, 

FRIENDSHIP,    ETC 


fOb 


RISH^ToASTf 


-V 


iRISH^iOASTf 


A    delectable    dear    is    woman,    so 
sweet  that  honey  would  blush  in  her 
presence,     and      molasses 
"traycle")   stand  appalled. 


A  Girl,  a  Bumper,  and  a  Friend 

An  Irish  lad's  a  jolly  boy. 

Full  of  frolic,  mirth,  and  fun. 
Wine  and  women  all  his  joy. 

And  from  a  foe  he'll  never  run. 
And  whether  he  is  rich  or  not. 

He  ne'er  feels  discontent  at  all, 
For  when  he  cash  in  store  has  got, 

Ne'er  rests  till  he  has  spent  it  all. 
Och  so  frisky  —  fond  of  whiskey, 

Joy  is  never  at  an  end ; 
Love's  his  boast  —  and  this  his  toast, 

A  Girl,  a  Bumper,  and  a  Friend. 

How  free  of  care's  an  Irish  boy, 

A  foe  to  all  formality, 
A  social  life  his  only  joy, 

39 


M 


^^fS  f      '  w — 

RISH^TOASTJ 


His  motto  —  Hospitality. 
His  monarch  too  he'll  dearly  love, 

His    measures,     faith,    he'll     back 
them  all ; 
And  as  for  foes,  he'll  quickly  prove 

How  naitly  he  can  whack  'em  all. 
He'll  dance  and  sing  —  God   save   the 
King, 

Success  the  noble  Crown  attend ; 
All  cares  deride  —  no  wish  beside 

A  Girl,  a  Bumper,  and  a  Friend. 


In  me  you  see  an  Irish  lad. 

Content  to  please,  and  willing,  Och, 
Who  laughs  when  comfort's  to  be 
had. 

And  pays  while  he's  a  shilling,  Och. 
Then  take  my  hand,  0  Fanny,  love. 

And  make  no  further  pother,  Och. 
My  heart  is  yours  —  things  clearly 
prove 

We're  made  for  one  another,  Och. 

40 


ml 


RTSH^lOASTr 


We'll  sing  and  play  —  no  larks  more 

gay, 

Our  joys  shall  never  have  an  end; 
No   wish   beside  ^  our   own    fireside, 
My  wife,  a  Bumper,  and  a  Friend. 


% 


A  good  wife  and  health 
Are  a  man's  best  wealth. 


% 


Again  prepare  —  here's  to  the  Fair 
Whose  smiles  with  joy  have  crowned 
us, 
Then   drain   the   bowl   for   each   gay 
soul 
That's    drinking    here    around    us. 


% 


"  Ah,  happy  is  he,  crowned  with  such 
life. 


41 


Rise 


Who    drinks    the    wife    pledging    the 

sweetheart, 
And    toasts    in    the    sweetheart    the 

wife." 


♦^ 


^  Be  thou  but  fair,  —  mankind  adore 
thee! 
Smile,  —  and  a  world  is  weak  before 
thee! 


^ 


But    send    round    the    bowl:     while 
a  reUc  of  truth 
Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  prayer 
shall  be  mine  — 
That   the   sunshine   of   love   may   il- 
lumine our  youth 
And    the    moonlight    of    friendship 
console  our  decline. 


42 


RTSH^  1 OASJJ 


Come,   fill   'round   a  bumper,   fill  up 

to  the  brim :  — 
He   who    shrinks   from   a    bumper   I 

pledge  not  to  him :  — 
Here's   to   the   girl   that  each   loves, 

be  her  eyes  of  what  hue, 
Or  lustre,  it  may,  so  her  heart  is  but 

true. 


Come    in    the    evening,    or   come   in 

the  morning. 
Come    when    you're    looked    for    or 

come  without  warning ; 
A     thousand     welcomes    you'll    find 

here  before  you. 
And  the  oftener  you  come  here  the 

more  we'll  adore  you. 


^ 


Die  when  you  will,  you  need  not  wear 
At  Heaven's  court  a  form  more  fair 


43 


RISH^TOASTT 


Than    beauty     here     on     earth    has 

given :  — 
Keep  but  the  lovely  looks  we  see, 
The  voice  we  hear,  and  you  will  be 
An  angel  ready  made  for  Heaven. 


*l^ 


Disguise   our   bondage   as   we   will, 
'Tis  a  woman  rules  us  still. 


^ 


Drink  to  her  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh. 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy ! 


^ 


Fill  a  dozen  bumpers  to  a  dozen 
beauties,  and  she  that  floats  atop  is 
the  maid  that  has  bewitched  you. 

44 


t      \ 


13 


^ 


iRJSH^iOASTf 


Go-de-thu,  Mavourneen  slaun. 
(May  you  go  safe,  my  darling.) 

If  Love  is  an  innocent  thing,  my  dear, 

My  heart  then  is  innocent  too; 
For  sure  it  contains  a  devil  a  thing 
But    love     for     an    angel  —  that's 
you  — 
And  all  of  the  day,  it's  the  whole  of 
my  lay, 
This  love  I  am  bearing  for  you. 


•^ 


Irish  eyes !  Irish  eyes ! 

Eyes  that  most  of  all  can  move  me ! 
Lift  one  look 
From  my  book 
Through    your    lashes    dark,    and 
prove  me 
In  my  worship,  oh,  how  wise 

45 


^ 


SH^ToASTf 


It  takes  more  genius  to  be  a  man 
than  manhood  to  be  a  genius.  As 
to  the  differences  between  men  and 
women,  I  beheve  that  when  their 
accounts  have  been  properly  balanced 
it  will  be  found  that  it  has  been  a  case 
of  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the 
other,  both  in  the  matter  of  sover- 
eignty and  of  mereness,  and  therefore 
without  prejudice  I  propose  that  the 
sixes  to  which  I  belong  shall  rise  and 
cordially  drink  to  the  health  of  the 
other  half  dozens,  our  kind  and 
generous  hosts  of  to-night. 


^ 


Let   us   drink    to    the    thought   that 

where'er  a  man  roves 
He  is  sure  to  find  something  blissful 

and  dear, 
And  that  when  he  is  far  from  the  lips 

that  he  loves, 


Vi 


46 


He  can  always  make  love 
lips  that  are  near. 


Let  those  love  now  who  never  loved 

before, 
Let  those  who  always  loved  now  love 

the  more. 


OAS 


^ 


Lord!    I  wonder  what  fool  it  was 
that  first  invented  kissing. 


^ 


Love  must,  in  short. 
Keep  fond  and  true, 

Thro'  good  report 
And  evil  too. 


^ 


May  the  smiles  of  women  cheer  Irish 
lads  so  clever 


47 


m 


RISH^IOASTJ 


That  they  in  whiskey  drink  to  beauty's 
queens  for  ever. 


May  we  never  see  poor  hounds  about 
a  house 

That  drag  their  mangy  life, 
Or  a  good  Irish  gentleman 

Attending  on  his  wife. 
(i.  e.,  for  want  oj  help.) 


••if 


O   the   boys   of   Kilkenny  are   brave 

roving  blades, 
^nd  if  ever  they  meet  with  the  nice 

little  maids 
They'll  kiss  them  and  coax  them  and 

spend  their  money  free  — 
Of  all  the  Towns  in  Ireland  Kilkenny 

for  me. 

48 


Irish^Toastj 


Of  all  the  lands  beneath  the  sun 
Old  Ireland  is  the  dearest  one. 

My  green  robed,  meek  eyed  mother, 
And  though  there's  trouble  on  her  now. 
Though   pain  and   sorrow   mark  her 
brow. 

Where  is  there  such  another? 

I  love  each  hill  and  flowery  dale 
That  decks  my  own  fair  Innisfail, 

I  love  her  sparkling  waters 
I  love  her  ruins,  grey  and  old, 
I  love  her  sons  so  true  and  bold 

And  — don't  I  love  her  daughters! 


St 


Oh!    fairer   than   the   lily 

sweeter  than  the  rose. 
As  modest  as  the  violet  in  dewy  dell 

that  blows ; 
With    heart    as    warm    as    summer 

noon,  and  pure  as  winter  snow  — 

49 


Ife 


RISH^iOASTJ 


The  pride  of  Erin's  isle  is  she,  dear 
Irish  Molly  0! 


^ 


Oh  the  bumpers  went  round 
With  an  elegant  sound, 
Chink,  chink,  like  sweet  bells  went 
the  glasses,  the  glasses. 
We  drank  Queen  and  King 
And  each  other  fine  thing, 
Then  bumpered  the  beautiful  lasses, 
sweet  lasses. 


T* 


The  Daughters  of  Ireland,  entrenched 
within  the  fortress  of  parental  affec- 
tion; May  they  never  surrender  the 
citadels  of  their  hearts,  except  to  those 
who  wield  the  arms  of  sincere  love, 
chastened  by  moraUty  and  temperance. 

50 


t^^®*^ v—— -~ 1  ^^^^-^^ 

iRTSH^iOASTT 


The  dewy   blue   blossom   that  hangs      11 

on  the  spray, 
More  blue  than  her  eye  human  eye 

never  saw,  ^ 

Deceit  never  lurked   in  its  beautiful 

ray. 
Dear  lady,  I  drink  to  you.  Slain te  go 

bragh ! 


The  drum  is  his  pleasure,  his  joy  and 

deUght, 
It  leads  him  to  pleasure  as  well  as 

to  fight. 
There's  never  a  girl,  though  ever  so 

glum. 
But  packs  up  her  tatters,  and  follows 

the  drum. 

*^ 


The  girl  that  is  witty, 
The  girl  that  is  pretty. 
The  girl  an  eye  black  as  a  sloe. 


sH^Toksrf 


Here's  to  girls  of  each  station 
Throughout  Ireland's  nation, 
And  especially  one  that  I  know. 


The  Irish  Heart  —  Quick  and  strong 
:  in  its  generous  impulses,  firm  in  its 
^    attachments,  sound  to  the  core. 

The  poet  of  the  ladies,  Tom  Moore. 

Then  remember  whenever  your  goblet 
is  crowned. 
To     the    eastward,     or    westward, 
wherever  you  roam. 
Whenever  the  health  of  dear  woman 
goes  'round. 
Remember   the   smiles   that   adorn 
her  at  home. 


52 


r^^ 
^ 


1""^ '^ " — 1  f^^ 
RTSH^QASTf 

Then  you  know  3.  boy  is  an  ass, 
Then  you  know  the  worth  of  a  lass 
Once  you  have  come  to  forty  year. 

Tho'   the  last  glimpse   of   Erin   with 

sorrow  I  see 
Yet    wherever    thou    art    shall    seem 

Erin  to  me, 
In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  still  be  my 

home 
And    thine    eyes    make    my    climate 

wherever  I  roam. 

Through    all    the    drama  —  whether 

damned  or  not  — 
Love    gilds    the    scene,    and    women 

guide  the  plot. 

To  Every  Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow 

53 


rflOlE 


RISH^ToASTf 


To  each  —  to  all, —  I'm  ever  true, 
To   God  —  to  Ireland  —  and  to  you. 

Here's  to  the  maiden  of  bashful  fifteen, 

Here's  to  the  widow  of  fifty, 
Here's   to   the   flaunting    extravagant 
queen. 
And  here's  to  the  housewife  that's 
thrifty. 

Let  the  toast  pass. 
Drink  to  the  lass, 
I'll   warrant   she'll   prove   an   excuse 
for  the  glass. 


\ 


Here's  to  the  maiden  whose  dimples 
we  prize. 
And  here's  to  her  that  has  none,  sir, 
I    Here's  to  the  maid  with  a  pair  of  black 
eyes, 
And  here  is  to  her  that's  but  one, 
sir. 

Let  the  toast  pass,  etc. 

54 


iRTSH^ToASTf 


Here's  to  the  maid  with  the 
of  snow 
And  to  her  that's  brown  as  a  berry; 
And  here's  to  the  wife  with  a  face  full 
of  woe, 
And  here's  to  the  girl  that  is  merry. 
Let  the  toast  pass,  etc. 

Let  her  be  clumsy,  or  let  her  be  slim. 
Young    or    ancient    I    care    not    a 
feather. 
So  fill  the  pint  bumper  quite  up  to 
the  brim. 
And  e'en  let  us  toast  them  together. 
Let  the  toast  pass,  etc. 


Tft 


To  ladies'  eyes,  around,  boys, 
We  can't  refuse,  we  can't  refuse. 

Their  bright  eyes  so  abound,  boys, 
It's   hard    to    choose,   it's   hard    to 
choose. 


55 


RISH^iOASTJ 


To  Love,  for  heaven  and  earth  adore 

him, 
And  gods  and  mortals  bow  before  him. 


<(£ 


Let  every  man  now  give  his  toast. 
Fill  up  the  glass  —  I'll  tell  you  mine : 

Wine  is  the  mistress  I  love  most; 
This  is  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

Well  said,  my  lad,  ne'er  let  it  stand, 
I  give   you   Chloe,   nymph   divine; 

May  love  and  wine  go  hand  in  hand; 
This  is  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

Fill  up  the  glasses  to  the  brink, 
Hebe,  let  no  one  dare  decline; 

*Twas  Hebe  taught  me  first  to  drink; 
This  is  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

Ge'mmen,  give  my  wife,  d'ye  see. 
May  all  to  make  her  blest  combine, 

56 


Irtsh^Ioastj 


So  she  be  far  enough  from  me; 

This  is  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

Let  constant  lovers  at  the  feet 

Of  pale-fac'd  wenches  sigh  and  pine, 

For  me,  the  first  kind  girl  I  meet 
Shall  be  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

You  toast  your  wife,  and  you  your  lass. 
My  boys,  and  welcome,  here's  the 
wine; 

For  my  part,  he  who  fills  my  glass 
Shall  be  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

What's  a  table  richly  spread 
Without  a  woman  at  its  head? 

When    once    the   yoimg    heart   of    a 

maiden  is  stolen, 
The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it 

soon. 

57 


RISH^TOASTJ 


Wherever  you   roam,   wherever  you 
roam, 

You  nothmg  will  meet 

Half  so  lovely  or  sweet 
As  the  girls  at  home,  the  girls  at  home. 

Wine  of  Spain, 
To  her  we'll  drain. 
Whoe'er  she  be,  I  love  her! 

Women  are  like  tricks  by  sleight  of 

hand. 
Which  to  admire,  we  should  not  imder- 

stand. 


HJi 


58 


-V 


RISH^ToASTf 


^ 

M 


^^ 


f 

■ 
■ 


w% 


*g 


CONVIVIAL  AND 
HUMOROUS  TOASTS 


RISH^iOASTf 


bV 


I 


Vl 


SH'^  i  Q ASTf 

Beimedh  a  gole ! 
(Let  us  be  drinking.) 


A  glass  is  good,  a  lass  is  good, 

And  a  pipe  to  smoke  in  cold  weather. 

The  world  is  good  and  the  people  are 
good, 
And  we're  all  good  fellows  together. 


Be  the  whiskey  ever  near  thee,  thro' 

the  day  and  night, 
'Tis  the  cordial  for  all  ages, 
Every  evil  it  assuages 
And  to  bards  and  saints  and  sages 

Gives  joy  and  life  and  light. 

Bird  of  the  North!    By  mstinct  fine 

You  sought  a  perfect  sea. 
And  we  to-night  from  sparkling  wine 

Will  make  that  place  for  thee! 

6i 


yi 


K^^  |u  y — — - — — 

RISH^^ToASTf 

No  longer  seek  the  rippling  brine, 
Or  haunt  the  marshy  waste, 

But  dip  your  wing  in   drink  divine. 
With  celery  to  your  taste. 


Bird  of  the  blest,  a  choicer  wave 

Flows  o'er  our  goblet's  brim, 
And  in  it  you  shall  sweetly  lave. 

And  in  it  you  shall  swim! 
No  more  the  waters  beat  your  breast. 

Your  tired  wings  brave  the  sky. 
But  you  shall  have  eternal  rest. 

And  float  in  "  Extra  Dry." 

But   send    round    the    bowl,    and    be 
happy  awhile  — 
May  we  never  meet  worse  in  our 
pilgrimage  here 
Than  the   tear  that  enjo5rment  may 
gild  with  a  smile  — 
And    the    smile    that    compassion 
can  turn  to  a  tear. 


62 


^^^^ — '^ ' '^W'"^ 

iRiSH^IoAsrr 


"  Cead  mille  failte,"   they'll  give  you 

down  at  Donovan's, 
As  cheery  as  the  spring-time,  and  Irish 

as  the  Canavaun. 
The  wish  of  my  heart  is  if  ever  I  had 

one 
That  every   luck   in   life   may  linger 

with  the  Donovan. 


'Si 


Come  fill  round  a  bumper,  fill  up  to 

the  brim, 
He   who   shrinks   from   a   bumper   I 

pledge  not  to  him. 


tj 


Come   charge  high,   again,   boy,  nor 

let  the  full  wine 
Leave  a  space  in  the  brimmer,  where 

daylight  may  shine ; 
Here's    the   friends    of    our   youth  — 

tho'  of  some  we're  bereft, 

63 


RlSH^iOASTJ 


May  the  links  that  are  lost  but  endear 
what  are  left. 


«(t 


Come,  once  more,  a  bumper  !- 

drink  as  you  please, 
Tho'  who  could  fill  half-way  to  toasts 

such  as  these? 
Here's    our    next    joyous    meeting  — 

and,  oh,  when  we  meet. 
May  our  wine  be  as  bright  and  our 

union  as  sweet! 


1^ 


Come,  send  roimd  the  wine,  and  leave 
points  of  belief 
To  simpleton  sages  and  reasoning 
fools ; 
This  moment's  a  flower  too  fair  and 
brief. 
To  be  withered  and  stain'd  by  the 
dust  of  the  schools : 

64 


I 


jSS5sii,ittbiM 


RTSH^  1  OAST/ 


Your  glass  may  be  purple,  and  mine 
may  be  blue, 
But  while  they  are  fill'd  from  the 
same  bright  bowl. 
The    fool,    who    would    quarrel    for 
difference  of  hue. 
Deserves  not  the  comfort  they  shed 
o*er  the  soul. 

Drain  the  cup  — 
Friend,  art  afraid? 
Spirits  are  laid 
In  the  Red  Sea. 
Mantle  it  up ; 
Empty  it  yet; 
Let  us  forget. 
Round  the  old  tree. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair ; 
Every  drop  we  sprinkle 

6s 


RISH^iQASiy 

O'er  the  brow  of  care, 
Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 


ts 


Flow,  thou  regal  purple  stream 
Tinted  by  the  solar  beam, 
In  my  goblet  sparkling  rise. 
Cheer  my  heart  and  glad  my  eyes. 
My  brain  ascend  on  fancy's  wing, 
'Noint  me,  wine,  a  jovial  king. 
While  I  live,  I'll  lave  my  clay: 
When  I'm  dead  and  gone  away, 
Let  my  thirsty  subjects  say, 
*'  A  month  he  reign'd,  but  that  was 
May." 

Here's  a  health  to  you.  Father  O'Flynn, 
Slain  the,   and    slain  the   and    slain  the 

agam, 
Powerfullest  preacher,  and    tenderest 

teacher 
And  kindliest  creature  in  ould  Donegal. 

66 


i 


IRTSH^iOASTJ 

Here's  to  ale :  it  is  meat,  drink  and 
cloth:  it  will  make  a  cat  speak  and  a 
wise  man  dumb. 

I  hope  you  are  all  here  to  do  honor 
to  the  toast.  As  many  of  ye  as  is 
present  will  say  "  Here !  "  and  as  many 
of  ye  as  is  not  present  will  say 
"Absent!" 

•^ 

I  know  thou  lovest  a  brimming  meas- 
ure, 
And  art  a  kindly,  cordial  host ; 
But  let  me  fill  and  drink  at  pleasure  — 
Thus  I  enjoy  the  goblet  most. 

I  should  be  glad  to  drink  your 
honor's  health  in  a  pot  of  beer,  if  you 
will  give  me  sixpence. 

67 


a^-^  ^      I  ^ -"- 

RISH^TOASTJ 


I  drink  the  good  health  of  "  Of ten- 

Who-Came." 
Who  often   comes  not,  I    also   must 

name. 
Who   often   comes  not,   I  also   must 

blame 
That    he    comes    not    as     often     as 

"  Often-Who-Came." 

Irish  whiskey:    the  genuine  moim- 
tain  dew. 

'Si 

Let  schoolmasters  puzzle  their  brain 
With  grammar  and   nonsense    and 
learning ; 

Good  liquor,  I  stoutly  maintain. 
Gives  genius  a  better  discerning. 

Let  Bacchus's  sons  be  not  dismayed. 
But  join  with  me  each  jovial  blade; 

68 


TSH^TOASTT 


Come  booze  and  sing,  and  lend  your  aid 
To  help  me  with  the  chorus  — 
Instead  of  Spa  we'll  drink  brown 

ale, 
And   pay   the   reckoning   on   the 

nail. 
No  man  for  debt  shall  go  to  jail 
From  Garryowen  in  glory ! 


^ 


Let  the  farmer  praise  his  grounds. 
Let  the  huntsman  praise  his  hounds, 

The  shepherd  his  dew-scented  lawn. 
But  I,  more  blest  than  they, 
Spend  each  happy  night  and  day 

With   my   charming   little   cruiscin 
Ian,  Ian,  Ian, 

My  charming  little  cruiscin  Ian. 

Gradh  mo  chroidhe  mo  cruiscin,  — 
Slainte  geal  mo  mhuimin. 

Is  gradh  mo  chroidhe  a  cuilin  ban. 

69 


RISH^TOASTJ 


Vi 


Gradh  mo  chroidhe  mo  cruiscin,  — 
Slainte  geal  mo  mhuirin, 

Is  gradh  mo  chroidhe  a  cuilin,  ban, 
ban, 

Is  gradh  mo  chroidhe  a  cuilin  ban. 

Immortal  and  divine, 
Great  Bacchus,  God  of  wine. 

Create  me  by  adoption  your  son ; 
In  hope  that  you'll  comply, 
My  glass  shall  ne'er  run  dry, 

Nor  my  smiling  little  cruiscin  Ian, 
Ian, 

My  smiling  little  cruiscin  Ian,  etc. 

And  when  grim  Death  appears. 
In  a  few  but  pleasant  years, 

To  tell  me  that  my  glass  has  run; 
say,  Begone,  you  knave, 
For  bold  Bacchus  gave  me  lave 

To  take  another  cruiscin  Ian,  Ian, 

Ian,  Ian, 
Another  little  crtiiscin  1^,  etc. 

70 


sfibta 


Irtsh^Toastt 


Then  fill  your  glasses  high, 

Let's  not  part  with  lips  adry, 

Though  the  lark  now  proclaims  it  is 
dawn; 

And  since  we  can't  remain, 

May  we  shortly  meet  again, 

To  fill  another  cruiscin  Ian,  Ian,  Ian, 
To  fill  another  cruiscin  Ian,  etc. 


% 


Long  life  to  the  man  that  invented 
potheen. 
Sure  the  Pope  ought  to  make  him  a 
martyr. 
K  myself  was  this  moment  the  King  or 
the  Queen 
I'd  dhrink  nothing  but  whiskey  and 
wather ! 

% 

Man  wants  but  little  here  below 
Nor  wants  that  Uttle  long 


^^ 


71 


RlSH^iOASTf 


Mark  how  it  sleeps  in  its  deep  placid 

purity, 
Not  a  brain-madd'ning  wild  bead  on  the 
top  of  it. 
Look  at  it,  emblem  of  health  and  se- 
curity — 
Slainte  doibh  uille  —  there's  health  in 
each  drop  of  it. 
Health  to  you  all. 

May  lasting  joys  attend  the  boys 
Who  love  the  land  that  bore  us. 

Still  may  they  share  such  friendly  fare 
As  this  that  spreads  before  us. 

May  Venus's   Myrtle   ever   be    en- 
twined with  the  Vine  of  Bacchus. 

Ye  sons  of  Anacreon,  be  joined  hand  in 
hand, 


72 


\ 


RISH^  1  OASl 


Vi 


Preserve  unanimity,  friendship,  and 

love. 
For  'tis  yours   to  support  what's  so 

happily  plann'd. 
You've  the  sanction  of  Gods  and  the 

fiat  of  Jove. 

While  thus  we  agree, 
Our  toasts  let  it  be : 
"  May  our  Club  flourish,  happy,  united 

and  free, 
And  long  may  the  Sons  of  Anacreon 

entwine 
The  Myrtle  of  Venus  with  Bacchus's 
Vine." 

May  we  never  want  a  friend  in  need, 
or  a  bottle  to  give  him  — !  ! 


%^ 


Observe,  when  Mother  Earth  is  dry 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky, 

73 


ing 


RlSH^ToASTf  \ 


And  then  the  dewy  cordial  gives 
To  every  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 
The  vapors  which  at  evening  weep 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  deep; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears 
He  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon  too  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then  hence  with  all  your  sober  think- 


Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  drinking, 
I'll  make  the  law  of  Nature  mine, 
And  pledge  the  Universe  in  wine. 

•ft 

Of  lives  we  have  but  one  as  far  as  I  can 

see; 
Then  speed  the  joyous  hour  with  song 

and  gayety. 
Let  fellowship  abound,  throw  sorrow 

to  the  wind, 
Let  not  a  care  be  found,  and  throw 

misery  all  behind. 

74 


kV 


\ 


RTS  H^Tm^STf  I 


Pour  deep  the  rosy  wine  and  drink  a 

toast  with  me :  — 
Here's    to    the    three:     Thee,    Wine 

and  Camaraderie! 


*ff* 


never  talk 


Once  more  fill  a  bumper 

of  the  hour, 
O'er  hearts  thus  united  old  Time  has  no 

power. 
May  our  lives, —  tho'  alas!    Uke  the 

wine  of  to-night, 
They  must  soon  have  an  end,  —  to  the 

last  flow  as  bright ! 

One  bumper  at  parting !   though  many 
Have  circled  the  board  since  we  met, 

The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any. 
Remains  to  be  crowned  by  us  yet. 

The  sweetness  that  pleasure  has  in  it. 
Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth, 


75 


ax 


idh 


RISH^ToASTf 


That  seldom,  alas !  till  the  minute 
It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth ! 

But  oh!  may  our  life's  happy  meas- 
ure 
Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up, 

They're  bom  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure. 
They  die  in  the  tears  of  the  cup. 


^ 


Paddy    O'Blamey's    toast  —  Arrah, 
may  we  live  all  the  days  of  our  lives. 

Press  the  grape  and  let  it  pour 
Aroimd  the  board  its  purple  shower. 
And,  while  the  drops  my  goblet  steep, 
I'll  think  in  woe  the  clusters  weep. 
Weep  on,  weep  on,  my  pouting  vine,  -  - 
Heaven  grant  no  tears  but  tears  of 

wine,  — 
Weep  on !  and  as  thy  sorrows  flow 
I'll  taste  the  luxury  of  woe. 

76 


H^ToASTf 


Saint  Patrick  was  a  gentleman 

Who,  through  strategy  and  stealth, 
Drove  all  the  snakes  from  Ireland  — 

Here's  a  bumper  to  his  health. 
But  not  too  many  bumpers, 

Lest  we  lose  ourselves,  and  then 
Forget  the  good  St.  Patrick 

And  see  the  snakes  again ! 


^ 


Say,  why  did  Time  his  glass  sublime 

Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly. 
When    wine    he    knew    runs    brisker 
through 

And  sparkles  far  more  brightly? 
Oh,  lend  it  us,  and  smiling  thus. 

The  glass  in  two  we'd  sever. 
Make  pleasure  glide  in  double  tide. 

And  fill  both  ends  for  ever ! 
Then  wreath  the  bowl  with  flowers  of 
soul. 

The  brightest  wit  can  find  us; 

77 


We'll  take  a  flight  toward  heaven  to- 
night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 


Serenely  full,  the  epicure  would  say. 
Fate  cannot  harm  me,  I  have  dined  to- 
day. 

So  fill  to  the  brim,  and  here's  to  him 
Who'd  drink  in  punch  the  Solway; 

With  debts  galore,  but  fim  far  more, 
Oh,  that's  "  the  man  for  Galway." 

Si 

So  we,  Sages,  sit, 
And  'mid  bumpers  brightening, 
From  the  Heaven  of  Wit 
Draw  down  all  its  lightning. 

ti 

Success   to   the  green!  faith,  we'll 
stand  by  it  still ! 


78 


lS¥r  i  O ASTJ  [ 


m 


The  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night, 
my  dear. 

The  fountains  drink  caves  subterrene, 
The  rivulets  drink  the  fountains  dry ; 

Brooks  drink  those  rivulets  again, 
And  then  some  river  gliding  by ; 

Until  some  gulping  sea  drink  them, 

And  ocean  drinks  up  that  again. 

Of  ocean  then  does  drink  the  sky; 

When  having  brewed  it  into  rain, 
The  earth  with  drink  it  does  supply. 

And  plants  do  drink  up  that  again. 
When  turned  to  liquor  in  the  vine, 
'Tis  our  turn  next  to  drink  the  wine. 

By  this  who  does  not  plainly  see 
How   into   our   throats  at   once   is 
hurled  — 


70 


RISH^ToASTf 


Whilst  merrily  we  drinking  be  — 

The  quintessence  of  all  the  world? 
Whilst  all  drink  then  in  land,  air,  sea, 
Let  us  too  drink  as  well  as  they. 

The  four  drinks  —  the  drink  for 
thirst,  the  drink  without  thirst,  the 
drink  for  fear  of  thirst,  and  the  drink 
at  the  door. 


ii 


The  friends,  the  very  best  I  saw 
While  through  the  land  a  rover. 

Were  brandy,  ale  and  usquebaugh  - 
Of  claret  I*m  no  lover. 


The    Irishman    loves    his    "  whiskey 
straight," 

Because  it  gives  him  dizziness. 
The  American  has  no  choice  at  all. 

So  he  drinks  the  whole business. 

80 


OASTf 


The  Pope  he  leads  a  happy  life, 
He  knows  no  cares  nor  marriage  strife ; 
He  drinks  the  best  of  Rhenish  wine  — 
I  would  the  Pope's  gay  lot  were  mine. 

But  yet  not  happy  in  his  life  — 
He  loves  no  maid  or  wedded  wife, 
Nor  child  hath  he  to  cheer  his  hope  — 
I  would  not  wish  to  be  the  Pope. 


The  Sultan  better  pleases  me. 
He  leads  a  life  of  joUity, 
Has  wives  as  many  as  he  will  — 
I  would  the  Sultan's  throne  then  fill. 

But  yet  he's  not  a  happy  man  — 
He  must  obey  the  Alcoran, 
And  dares  not  taste  one  drop  of  wine 
I  would  not  that  his  lot  were  mine. 

So  here  I  take  my  lowly  stand, 
I'll  drink  my  own,  my  native  land; 
I'll  kiss  my  maiden's  lips  divine, 
And  drink  the  best  of  Rhenish  wine 


RISH^TOASTJ 

II,,,.,. I-- 

And  when  my  maiden  kisses  me 
I»ll  fancy  I  the  Sultan  be; 
And  when  my  cheering  glass  I  tope 
I'll  fancy  then  I  am  the  Pope. 

Then  fill  the  bowl  —  away  with  care, 
Our  joys  shall  always  last,  — 
For  hope  shall  lighten  days  to  come 
And  memory  gild  the  past. 


^ 


"  Then  here  goes  another,"  says  he, 

"  to  make  sure. 
For  there's  luck  in  odd  numbers,"  says 

Rory  O'More. 


^ 


There's  never  a  bond  old  friend  like 
this,  — 

We  have  drunk  from  the  same  can- 
teen. 

82 


Irish'Toastj 


11 


This  cup*s  flowing  measure 

I  toast  to  that  treasure, 

The  brave  man  whose  pleasure 

Is  quaffing  rich  wine. 
Who  deep  flagons  draining 
From  quarrels  abstaining 
The  mom  finds  remaining 

All  joyous  divine. 

This  lesson  oft  in  life  I  sing, 

And  from  my  grave  I  still  shall  cry, 

Drink,   mortal,   drink,  while   time   is 

young. 
Ere  death  has  made  thee  old  as  I. 


i^ 


Though  deep,  yet  clear;  though  gentle, 

yet  not  dull ; 
Strong   without   rage;    without   o'er- 

flowing  full. 

^3 


,^. 


Irish^Toastj 


Thus  circling  the  cup  hand  in  hand, 
ere  we  drink 
Let   sympathy    pledge   us    through 
pleasure,  through  pain. 
That  fast  as  a  feeling  but  touches  one 

link 
Her  magic  shall  send  it  direct  through 
the  chain. 


To  All  Friends  at  Home  or  Abroad 


Let  others  delight  in  the  days  that  are 
fled. 

And  boast  of  the  revels  their  fore- 
fathers led ; 

Whilst  of  present  enjoyments  more 
wisely  we'll  talk, 

And  laugh,  joke  and  sing,  as  we  draw 
forth  the  cork. 

We  saw  how  the  sun  looked  sinking, 
The  waters  beneath  him  how  bright, 

84 


TSH^iOASTT 

And  now  let  our  farewell  of  drinking 

Resemble  that  farewell  of  light. 
You  saw  how  he  finished  by  darting 

His  beam  o*er  a  deep  billow's  brim  — 
So  fill  up,  let's  shine  at  our  parting, 

In  full,  liquid  glory  like  him. 
And  oh !  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Of  moments  like  this  be  made  up ; 
It  was  bom  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure, 

It  dies  'mid  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

When  Saint  Patrick  this  order  estab- 
lished. 
He  called  us  the  "  Monks  of  the 
Screw;  " 
Good  rules  he  revealed  to  our  Abbot 
To  guide  us  in  what  we  should  do ; 
But  first  he  replenished  our  f  oimtain 

With  liquor  the  best  in  the  sky ; 
And  he  said,  on  the  word  of  a  saint. 
That  the  fountain  should  never  run 
dry. 


.^. 


8s 


1A 


RISH^lOASTf 


Each   year,   when   your   octaves   ap- 
proach, 
In  full  chapter  convened  let  me  find 
you; 
And  when  to  the  Convent  you  come, 
Leave  your  favorite  temptation  be- 
hind you. 
And  be  not  a  glass  in  your  Convent, 

Unless  on  a  festival  found ; 
And,  this  rule  to  enforce,  I  ordain  it 
One  festival  all  the  year  roimd. 


My   brethren,   be   chaste,   till   you*re 
tempted ; 

While  sober,  be  grave  and  discreet ; 
And  humble  your  bodies  with  fasting. 

As  oft  as  youVe  nothing  to  eat. 
Yet,  in  honor  of  fasting,  one  lean  face 

Among  you  I'd  always  require ; 
If  the  Abbot  should  please,  he  may 
wear  it. 

If  not,  let  it  come  to  the  Prior. 

86 


ISH^ToASTf! 


Come,  let  each  take  his  chalice,  my 
brethren, 
And  with  due  devotion  prepare. 
With  hands  and  with  voices  uplifted, 
Our    hymn    to    conclude    with 
prayer. 
May  this  chapter  oft  joyously  meet, 
And  this  gladsome  libation  renew, 
To  the  Saint,  and  the  Founder,  and 
Abbot, 
And  Prior,  and  Monks  of  the  Screw ! 

% 

Where  is  the  heart  that  would  not  give 
Years  of  drowsy  days  and  nights. 
One  little  hour  like  this  to  Uve  — 
Full  to  the  brim  of  Ufe's  delight? 

Whiskey,  drink  divine ! 

Why  should  drivellers  bore  us 
With  the  praise  of  wine 

While  we've  thee  before  us? 

87 


^ 


RISH'^IOASTJ 


Were  it  not  a  shame, 

Whilst  we  gaily  fling  thee 

To  our  Ups  of  flame, 

If  we  could  not  sing  thee? 


Whiskey,  drink  divine,  etc 

Greek  and  Roman  sung 

Chian  and  Falemian  — 
Shall  no  harp  be  strung 

To  thy  praise,  Hibernian? 
Yes !  let  Erin's  sons  — 

Generous,  brave,  and  frisky 
Tell  the  world  at  once 

They  owe  it  to  their  whiskey 

Whiskey,  drink  divine,  etc. 

If  Anacreon  —  who 

Was  the  grape's  best  poet  — 
Drank  our  mountain-dew 

How  his  verse  would  show  it ! 

88 


IrISH^' 1 0  ASTf 


As  the  best  then  known, 

He  to  wine  was  civil; 
Had  he  Inishowen, 

He'd  pitch  wine  to  the  devil  - 

Whiskey,  drink  divine,  etc. 

Bright  as  beauty's  eye, 

When  no  sorrow  veils  it : 
Sweet  as  beauty's  sigh, 

When  young  love  inhales  it : 
Come,  then,  to  my  lips  — 

Come,  thou  rich  in  blisses! 
Every  drop  I  sip 

Seems  a  shower  of  kisses  — 

Whiskey,  drink  divine,  etc 

Could  my  feeble  lays 

Half  thy  virtues  number, 

A  whole  grove  of  bays 

Should  my  brows  encumber. 

89 


?A 


RlSH^T^STf 


Be  his  name  adored, 

Who  summoned  up  thy  merits 
In  one  little  word, 

When  we  call  thee  spirits  — 

Whiskey,  drink  divine,  etc. 

Send  it  gaily  round  — 

Life  would  be  no  pleasure, 
If  we  had  not  found 

This  enchanting  treasure : 
And  when  tyrant  death's 

Arrow  shall  transfix  ye. 
Let  your  latest  breaths 

Be  whiskey !  whiskey !  whiskey ! 

Whiskey,  drink  divine,  etc. 

Ye  good  fellows  all. 

Who  love   to  be   told  where 

claret's  in  store. 
Attend  to  the  call 


90 


OASTf 


Of  one  who's  ne'er  frighted, 
But  greatly  delighted 

With  six  bottles  more. 
Be  sure  you  don't  pass 
The  good  house,  Moneyglass, 

Which  the  jolly  red  god  so  peculiarly 
owns, 
'Twill  well  suit  your  humor  — 
For,  pray,  what  would  you  more. 

Than    mirth    with    good    claret,    and 
bumpers,  Squire  Jones? 


Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 
I  cradle  all  my  woes  to  sleep. 


ri 


Your  health,  my  friend !   till  life  shall 
^  end 

^*^  May  no  bad  chance  betide  us ; 

75     Oh,  may  we  still,  our  grief  to  kill, 
Have  drink  like  this  beside  us ! 


91 


ISH^IOASTT 


\ 


TSH^iOASTf 


MISCELLANEOUS 
TOASTS    AND 
SENTIMENTS 


93 


RISH^ToASTf  i 


A  fig  for  your  new-fashioned  waltzes 
lO-        Imported    from    Spain    and    from 

^rf&sS    And  a  fig  for  the  thing  called  the  polka, 
^fS.^^       ^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  J^S  we  will  dance. 


•5* 


An  Irishman,  may  he  always  eat  his 
potatoes  without  peel. 


^ 


An  Irishman  in  France,  drinking  in 
company  with  one  who  proposed  the 
toast  "  The  Land  we  live  in,"  re- 
sponded, "  Ay,  with  all  my  sowl,  me 
jewel;  Here's  to  poor  ould  Ireland." 

^:  «  And  often  and  often  I*m  longing  still, 
f^  This  gay  and  golden  weather, 

""^  For  my  father's  face  by  an  Irish  hill 

^         And  he  and  I  together. 


95 


And  when  we  drain  the  golden  cup 
To  them,  to  those  we  ne'er  can  see, 

With  wine  of  hope  we'll  fill  it  up 
And  drink  to  days  that  yet  may  be. 


^ 


And  there  —  whence  there's  never  re- 
turning 
When    we    travel  —  as    travel    we 
must  — 
May  the  gates  be  all  free  for  our  jour- 
ney 
And  the  tears  of  our  friends  lay  the 
dust. 

Brother  Pat,  may  he  be  as  always 
triumphant  in  love  and  in  war. 

**  Caed  mille  failthe." 

A  hundred  thousand  welcomes. 

96 


ISH^  i  Q ASTf 

God  save  us  from 

A  slow  foot  steed,  a  hound  run  wild, 
An  unwise  lord  who  breeds  but  strife  — 

And  a  wife  who  bears  no  child. 


^ 


"  God  scatters  her  sons  like  seed  on  the 

lea, 
And  they  root  where  they  fall,  be  it 

mountain  or  furrow; 
They  come  to  remain  and  remember; 

and  she 
In  their  growth  will  rejoice  in  a  blissful 

to-morrow." 


^ 


Good  luck  to  you,  don't  scorn  the  p^or, 
and  don't  be  their  despiser, 

For  worldly  wealth  soon  melts  away, 
and  cheats  the  very  miser. 

97 


RISH^iOASTf 


Hame,  what's  hame? 

A  wee  short  word  o'  letters  four, 

But  frae  the  store 
0'  langest  word  that  tongue  can  claim, 
Nane's  got,  I  wis, 

Sic  power  an  Irish  heart  to  touch, 

Nane  hands  in  meanin'  half  as  much 
As  this. 


iV 


Health  to  my  body,  wealth  to  my  purse, 
Heaven  to  my  soul,  and  I  wish  you  no 
worse. 


Here's  to  Mavoumeen  and  Erin-go- 

bragh ! 
The  Dutch  make  the  beer,  but  I  keep 

up  the  law. 
The  Germans  are  all  right  in  war  and 

in  peace. 
But,  b'gorry !  it  takes  the  Irish  to  make 

good  police. 


\ 


Vi 


98 


-V 


Here's  a  sigh  to  those  who  love  me 
And  a  smile  to  those  who  hate, 

And  whatever  sky's  above  me 
Here's  a  heart  for  any  fate. 

*^ 

Here's  to  poetry,  the  eldest  sister  of 
all  arts  and  the  parent  of  most. 

Here's  to  the  bridge  that  carries  us 
over. 

Here's  to  the  ould  Fifty-ninth,  th' 
last  in  the  field  and  the  first  to  lave  it ! 
No,  that's  wrong  —  Here's  to  th'  ould 
Fifty-ninth,  aquil  to  none ! 

Ho !  stand  to  your  glasses  steady ! 
'Tis  all  we  have  to  prize. 
A  cup  to  the  dead  already,  — 
Hurrah  for  the  next  that  dies ! 


99 


^rv  f    '  ' — 

RISH^TOASTJ 


I  drink  as  the  fates  ordain  it, 

Come  fill  it,   and  have  done  with 
rhymes ; 

Fill  up  the  glass  and  drain  it 
In  memory  of  dear  old  times. 

If  wishing  damns  us,  you  and  I 
Are  damn'd  to  all  our  heart's  content; 
Come  then,  at  least  we  may  enjoy 
Some  pleasure  for  our  punishment. 

Irelands   bards  from  O'Carolan   to 
Tom  Moore. 

Irish  generosity,   wamlth   of  heart 
and  kind  bravery. 

Irish  hearts  and  English  hearts :  may 
they  ever  beat  in  unison  together. 

lOO 


^ 

^ 

^ 


M 


*ii 


RISH^  1 Q  ASTf 

Irish  hospitality  and  bravery. 


Leave  Business  to  Idlers  and  Wis- 
dom to  Fools;  they  have  need  of  *em; 
Wit  be  my  faculty,  Pleasure  my  Occu- 
pation and  let  Father  Time  Shake  his 
Glass. 

% 

Liberty  all  over  the  world  —  and 
everywhere  else! 

May  good  fortune  follow  you  all  your 
life  (and  never  catch  up  with  you). 

May  Thady  eat  his  potatoes  in  peace 
and  quietness. 

^^ 

May  we  follow  in  our  good  fathers* 
steps  and  never  get  into  a  bog. 


lOI 


RISH^ToASTf 


May  we  never  hear  the  cuckoo, 
when  we  have  an  empty  stomach,  see 
the  first  snail  on  a  bare  stone,  or  a 
black  ram  with  its  hinder  parts  to- 
wards us. 

May  we  never  quarrel  from  differ- 
ence of  creed. 


Come,  send  round  the  wine,  and  leave 
points  of  belief 
To  simpleton  sages,  and  reasoning 
fools ; 
This  moment's  a  flower  too  fair  and  too 
brief, 
To  be  witherM  and  stain'd  by  the 
dust  of  the  schools. 
Your  glass  may  be  purple,  and  mine 
may  be  blue, 
But,  while  they  are  filPd  from  the 
same  bright  bowl, 

102 


Irish^Toastj 


The  fool,  who  would  quarrel  for  dif- 
ference of  hue, 
Deserves  not  the  comfort  they  shed 
o'er  the  soul. 

Shall   I   ask   the   brave   soldier,   who 
fights  by  my  side 
In   the   cause   of   mankind,   if   our 
creeds  do  agree? 
Shall  I  give  up  the  friend  I  have  valued 
and  tried, 
If  he  kneel  not  before  the  same  altar 
with  me? 
From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  soul  shall  I 

fly, 

To  seek  somewhere  else  a  more  or- 
thodox kiss? 
No!    perish  the  hearts,  and  the  laws 
that  may  try 

Truth,  valour,  or  love,  by  a  standard 
like  this. 

May  you  live  all  the  days  of  your  life. 

103 


ISH^TOASTJ 


May  you  never  be  without  a  caubeen, 
a  threeheen,  and  a  sligeen. 


^ 


May  you  never  bum  your  coal  with-     -  ., 
out  warming  yourself.  ;  (L 

Must  we  part? 
Well,  if  we  must  —  we  must  —  and  in 

that  case 
The  less  is  said  the  better. 


^ 


0  thou  that  blest  the  loaves  and  fishes, 
Look  down  upon  these  two  poor  dishes, 
And  tho'  the  murphies  are  but  small, 
0  make  them  large  enough  for  all, 
For  if  they  do  our  bellies  fill 
I'm  sure  it  is  a  miracle. 


T04 


^""^ — "7, ^ !7Lm:       f^ 

iRTSH^ToASTf  ^ 


Och,  you  and  only  you, 
Soggarth  aroon ! 

Pat  may  be  foolish,  and  sometimes 

very  wrong, 
Pat  has  a  temper,  which  don't  last  very 

long, 
Pat  is  full  of   jollity,  that  everybody 

knows. 
And  you'll  never  find  a  coward,  where 

the  shamrock  grows. 

St.  Patrick  was  a  gentleman,  and  came 
of  decent  people; 
In  Dublin  town  he  built  a  church 
and  on't  he  put  a  steeple; 
His  father  was  O'Houlihan,  his  mother 
was  a  lady, 
His  uncle  was  O'Shaughnessy,  and 
his  aunt  a  Widow  Grady. 

105 


W'^  ^. 


RISH^ToASTf 


Then  success  to  bold   St.  Pat- 
rick's fist, 
He  was  a  saint  so  clever, 
He  gave  the  snakes  and  toads  a 
twist. 
And  banished  them  for  ever ! 


Oh !  Feltrim  Hill  is  very  high,  so  is  the 

Hill  of  Howth,  too. 
But  there's  a  hill  that  is  hard  by,  much 

higher  than  them  both  too ; 
'Twas  on  the  top  of  this  high  hill  St. 

Patrick  preached  a  sarmin. 
He  made  the  frogs  skip  thro'  the  bogs, 

and  banished  all  the  varmin ! 
Success,  etc. 


There's  not  a  mile  in  Ireland's  Isle 
where  the  dirty  varmin  musters; 

Where'er  he  puts  his  dear  fore-foot,  he 
murdered  them  in  clusters : 

1 06 


IkV 


£tmu 


RTS  H^  1 0  ASTJ 


The  toads  went  hop,  the  frogs  went  pop,     h  Ac 
slap-haste  into  the  water,  \\\Jj^ 

And  the  snakes  committed  suicide  to 
save  themselves  from  slaughter. 
Success,  etc. 


Nine  hundred  thousand  vipers  blue  he 

charmed  with  sweet  discourses, 
And  dined  on  them  at  Killaloe,  in  soups 

and  second  courses; 
When  blind-worms   crawling  on  the 

grass  disgusted  the  whole  nation. 
He  gave  them  a  rise,  and  opened  their 

eyes  to  a  sense  of  their  situation. 
Success,  etc. 

Oh,  then,  should  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to 

get  back  to  Munster, 
Sure   ril   be   bound   that   from   that 

ground  I  ne'er  again  will  once  stir ; 
*Twas  there  St.  Patrick  planted  turf, 

and  plenty  of  the  praties, 


Jh 


107 


RISH^ToASTf 


With  pigs   galore,   machree   asthore! 
and  buttermilk  and  ladies ! 
Success,  etc. 

No  wonder  that  we  Irish  lads  should  be 

so  free  and  frisky, 
Since  St.  Patrick  taught  us  first  the 

knack     of     drinking     of      good 

whiskey ; 
'Twas  he  that  brewM  the  best  of  malt, 

and  understood  distilling. 
For  his  mother  she  kept  a  shebeen  shop 

in  the  town  of  Inniskillen! 
Oh,  success,  etc. 


^ 


Should  he  by  chance  a  Knave  or  Fool  \^^^^ 

expose,  -^^^ 

That  hurts  none  here,  sure  here  are     \^ 
none  of  those. 


1 08 


lirf-- 


ISH^ToASTf 

Spirits,  my  lads,  and  toast  away, 
I  have  still  one  with  yours  to  join. 

That  you  may  have  enough  to  pay ; 
This  is  my  toast,  now  give  me  thine. 

% 

The  blessed  fruit 
That  grows  at  the  root 
Is  the  real  gold 
Of  Ireland. 


% 


The   Irish   Anacreon,    the    bard    of 
Bacchus  and  Love,  Tom  Moore. 

The  Irish  piper  who  plays  the  same 
tune  night  and  morning. 


% 


The  newspapers  —  the  most  villain- 
ous —  licentious  —  abominable  —  in- 


r1 


109 


The  Press 
it  deserves. 


RISH^ToASTf 

femal —  Not  that  I  ever  read  them 
—  No  —  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  look 
into  a  newspaper ! 


^ 


Here's  to  all  the  success 


^ 


To  the  Informer 

May  his  cradle  ne'er  rock,  may  his  box 
have  no  lock, 
May  his  wife  have  no  frock  for  to 
cover  her  back, 
May  his  cock  never  crow,  may  his 
bellows  ne'er  blow. 
And  his  pipe  and  his  pot,  may  he 
ever  more  lack. 

Then,  oh!   when  round  the  Christmas 
board,  or  by  the  Christmas  hearth, 

no 


^lOASTf 


That  glorious  mingied  draught  is 
poured,  —  wine,  melody  and  mirth  — 

When  friends  long  absent  tell,  low- 
toned,  their  joys  and  sorrows  o'er. 

And  hand  grasps  hand,  and  eyeUds  fill, 
and  lips  meet  lips  once  more  - 

In  that  bright  hour,  perhaps  —  perhaps, 
some  woman's  voice  would  say  - 

"  Think  —  think,  on  those  who  weep  to- 
night, poor  exiles,  far  away." 

Your  voice  has  the  music  of  spirit-land 
To  the  heart  of  an  Irishman, 

For  magic,  and  tears  and  joy  are  there, 
A  Roshin  bhinn  na'ndhan ! 
(Melodious  rose  of  the  poem.) 


THE    END. 


Ill 


dhl 


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* 


OASTJ 


Vi 


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9W 


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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

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